


It's not what you think

by ko_writes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Use, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has returned after two long years, but John is in no mood to forgive him. Sherlock hears imaginary whispering at a crime scene; is something else wrong? What happens when Anderson and Donovan get involved? (Anderson is still with the police in this fic) Spoilers for The Empty Hearse. Post-Reichenbach. Warning: Anderson and Donovan being idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was ridiculous. Sherlock held his mobile to his ear for what seemed to be the millionth time that day; but it wasn’t; it was the seventh. The phone on the other end rang for a little while before switching to the answering machine. Sherlock sighed. Another message. “John, please. I’m sorry. Stop being an idiot and call me back. You know this is Sherlock,” Sherlock hung up yet again, “for the seventh time.”  
Yes, it had been two years. Yes, he hadn’t informed John the he wasn’t dead; but he tried! ‘It’s just a trick. A magic trick.’ Hadn’t he noticed the change in tense? Oh well, it was a long shot.   
John was gone; that much seemed certain. Mary said she’d help, but she had either; not bothered, not remembered, or has not been successful yet.  
Molly had agreed to accompany him to crime scenes for the time being, though. She would have to do. She was actually quite qualified; but she wasn’t John. Sherlock couldn’t believe what he was thinking; sentiment wasn’t going to be an advantage at this admittedly difficult time.   
The ring-tone of his mobile caught his attention. He answered quickly without looking at the caller ID. “John!”   
Throat cleared at the other end of the line. “Um… sorry Sherlock, it’s Lestrade. We’ve got a case for you if you want it…”  
“Thank you. Text me the address and other details.”  
“Hold on Sherlock, why did you think I was John? Is something going on?”  
“None of your concern, Lestrade.” Sherlock promptly hung up before Lestrade could reply. He’d phone Molly as soon as he got an address. He could finally distract himself from his own mind.  
Sure enough, the text came and Sherlock informed Molly to meet him there. He wasn’t sure if he could do this.  
…  
Molly arrived almost exactly the same time as Sherlock, if not a few seconds behind. Lestrade met them by the sealed door to the crime scene. He tarred the police tape off the door, allowing them to enter.  
“This one’s got us all baffled…” he sighed.  
“Mm. I don’t doubt it.”  
Lestrade opened the door and led Sherlock and Molly down the stairs into the basement.   
At the foot of the stairs, a large hole had been knocked through the brickwork of one wall. They went through the hole and Lestrade switched on the mobile lighting which has been set up in the room. As he switched more lights on, the “skeleton mystery” which Sherlock had been reading earlier was revealed.   
A white-painted wooden table was at the far end of the room and seated on a chair behind it was a skeleton dressed in an old-fashioned suit. There was a carafe and a glass and what looks like a writing set on the table in front of it. The corpse is holding a syringe in one skeletal hand.   
Frowning, Sherlock was already zooming in on details of the scene before he walked across the room, laid his pouch of tools on the table and got to work, examining the corpse in minute detail. Molly stood nearby, her notebook open and pen poised.   
Sherlock sniffed at the body and tried to decide what he is picking up; was it PINE? SPRUCE? CEDAR. NEW MOTHBALLS. Another scent: Carbon particulate; fire damage.   
Sherlock straightened up and shut his magnifier. “What is it?” Molly asked. Sherlock didn’t pay much attention to her, though. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it up high to try and get a signal. “You’re on to something, aren’t you?” She asked again.  
Sherlock decided to respond this time, however. “Mm, maybe…”  
A whisper, John’s voice, invaded his ears; “show off,” it muttered.  
“Shut up, John,” Sherlock mumbled in response to this obviously imaginary whisper.  
Lestrade’s eyes flickered across to him. “What?” Molly asked, concern in her voice. Sherlock only walked around to the other side of the table to continue his investigations.  
Sherlock carefully used tweezers to lift the lapel of the skeleton’s jacket. Molly still stood some distance away, waiting to write anything down. Lestrade leaned close to Sherlock and spoke softly, “This gonna be your new arrangement, is it?” he asked.  
“Just giving it a go,” Sherlock replied.  
“Right. So, John?” Another question from Lestrade.  
Sherlock expertly controlled a quiver at the corners of his lips. “Not really in the picture anymore.” Controlled voice; trying to remain above it all.  
He moved away from the table and turned back to look at the whole picture. Cement dust drifted down from the ceiling as a distant rumbling broke the painful silence of the room.  
“Trains?” Molly offered as an explanation.  
“Trains,” Sherlock confirmed. She was every bit as talented as John; so why did he miss him?  
He dropped into a squat and called up a mental compass showing the orientation of the room. He steepled his fingers in front of his mouth he zoomed in on the corpse. Molly walked across to the body and looked at the bones in its neck. Sherlock stands up and walked over to join her.  
“Male, forty to fifty,” she stated, “Oh, sorry, did you want to be...?”  
“Err, no, please. Be my guest…” Sherlock dismissed.  
Another whisper. This time more persistent, echoing around Sherlock’s mind. “You jealous?”  
“Shut up!” Sherlock growled through gritted teeth. Molly glanced nervously at Greg. Something was obviously affecting Sherlock. Sherlock took out his magnifier to look more closely at the hand holding the syringe while Molly continued investigating the skeleton.  
“Doesn’t make sense…” Molly almost whispered.  
“What doesn’t?” Lestrade asked.  
Sherlock gently blew away the dust around the hand and continued blowing towards the edge of the table. “This skeleton – it’s... it can’t be any more than...” Molly began.  
“Six months old,” she and Sherlock stated in unison.  
Sherlock found a hidden compartment in the side of the table. He opens it and slid out a book from inside it. He blew the dust from the cover, gave it a sarcastic glance and showed it to Molly. Upon the cover were the words; ‘How I did it – by Jack the Ripper’. “Wow!” Molly gasped.  
After a few more moments of idle talk which, in all fairness, was pointless; Sherlock started to pack his pouch of tools. Another whisper. “Smart arse.” It was definitely John; but mocking as it echoed even more. Sherlock grimaced, his hand throwing themselves to his head. He knew he had to calm down.  
His teeth clenched as he tried to shoo away the whispers as quietly as possible. “Get out.” Sherlock quickly regained composure and what little was left of his sense of dignity. He was about to rush off; back to Baker Street, back to the safety and privacy of his own flat. “I won’t insult your intelligence by explaining it to you.”  
“No, please – insult away!” Lestrade insisted.  
Sherlock grabbed his tools and turned to leave when the mocking whisper returned; “You forgot to put your collar up!” It was almost laughing at him now. More echoing.  
“The… the… the corpse is… is six months old; it’s dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It’s been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric. It was sold off in a fire-damage sale...” Sherlock displays the screen of his phone to Lestrade “...a week ago.”  
“So the whole thing was a fake?” Lestrade seemed a little disappointed by the result.  
“Yes.” Sherlock wanted to be out of that room then and there.  
“Looked so promising!” Greg sighed. Sherlock was gone. He needed to be somewhere private.   
He shrugged off the whispers as remorse, guilt, not enough sleep and not enough nourishment. It would be fine after he had a good night’s sleep, had a decent meal and talked to John.  
It will be fine. Won’t it?


	2. John's right there, Molly...

Back at Baker Street. Sherlock climbed the stairs to 221b quickly, needing to get inside. He burst through the door.  
“Sherlock! I came to talk to you,” John. Good old John. Sherlock knew he couldn’t leave him forever.  
“I’m sorry, John. I had to do it. You, Mrs Hudson and Gavin were in danger.”  
“I know. Gavin and Mrs Hudson have forgiven you; I guess I can too,” John smiled.   
“So… tea?” Sherlock offered.  
“Not for me, thanks. I promised Mary that I’d be home soon. I’ll come by tomorrow, Sherlock.”  
“Oh, ok. Meet me at Bart’s at nine o’clock. I need a whole cadaver for my latest experiment.”  
“Meet you there.” And with that, John walked out of the room and down the stairs. Sherlock couldn’t help but smile. John was back in his life.  
…  
The morgue was cold as always. John watched Sherlock as he looked into the microscope. “Looks interesting…” John commented.  
“It is, actually,” Sherlock looked up for a split second at his friend and smiled.  
Molly walked into the lab. She noticed Sherlock as quickly as usual. “Oh, hello Sherlock.”  
“Charming. Ignore me ‘cause I’m not Sherlock. Thank you, Molly,” John laughed sarcastically. Sherlock shot a glance at John who promptly quieted.  
“Hello Molly.”  
“Do you want something from the cafeteria? I’m going down in a minute…” She asked.  
“I’m fine. John, do you want anything?” Sherlock looked up at John.  
“Oh. John’s here now is he? Where is he, I want to give him a piece of my mind…” She smiled somewhat playfully.  
“Molly… John’s right here…” Sherlock pointed to his friend.  
“Um… I have to go. See you later.” She rushed out of the room.  
“What was that about?” John asked.  
“No idea.” Sherlock shrugged, returning to his experiment.  
…  
Molly dug out her phone as quickly as possible. It was a good thing that John gave her his number for emergencies. The phone rang, but this time it was answered.  
“Molly?” The voice at the other end asked.  
“Hey, John. I’m really concerned about Sherlock –”  
“I don’t care…”  
“John! Don’t hang up!”  
A pause at the other end. “… Alright. What’s wrong?”  
“I was just in the lab with Sherlock. I asked him if he wanted anything. He said no then asked ‘John, do you want anything?’ I looked around, saw you weren’t in the room, so I asked Sherlock where you were, thinking he was in one of his zoned-out moods; but he said that you were next to him and pointed to thin air! I think something’s wrong! He was acting off at the last crime scene; he kept muttering things like ‘shut up’ when no one was talking or even moving… You need to check on him. I don’t know what’s going on; but I know what he needs, and that’s you!”  
“Ok. I’ll visit him tonight. But I’m not happy about this, Molly. I’m only doing this because I’m a doctor!”  
Molly had enough of John’s continued disregard for his friend. She couldn’t take it anymore. “John Watson, I’ve had enough of that crap! Sherlock is your friend and you should at least try and forgive him! I know he was away from a long time and that he didn’t tell you that he was alive; but you were his only friend and you need to help him and support him now more than ever!”  
The other end of the call was silent for a long while. Molly was about to hang up when John decided to answer. “Thank you Molly.” He hung up.


	3. You in surgical scrubs, covered in blood

The night was dull at Baker Street. Sherlock had nothing to do, but at least John was with him.   
Sherlock had a cup of tea in his hands. John had refused all offered to him; which was a little concerning. “John, are you alright? You haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day…”  
“Isn’t it usually me who asks you that?” John laughed, “I’m fine Sherlock, don’t worry.” The noise of footfalls on stairs filled the air in the flat. “Who could that be? It’s much too late for a client…” John continued.  
The door swung open to reveal… John. Standing in the door way. Sherlock’s face drained off all colour. He looked back at John’s chair and saw… John. Two Johns?!  
“Sherlock… Are you alright?” The John by the door asked.   
“Do you have twin?” It was worth a notion. It obviously wasn’t the most likely explanation, but the others were more than a bit not good.  
“No… I don’t, Sherlock…” What was the matter with Sherlock?  
“The crime scene! I heard whispering that wasn’t there…”  
“Sherlock it’s ok…”  
“Did you come here yesterday? Were you with me in the lab today?!” Sherlock became more agitated.   
“No… I wasn’t there, Sherlock…” John was concerned. There was a lot that could cause hallucinations.   
“I… I… don’t think I’m ok…” Sherlock confessed.  
“I need you to tell me honestly Sherlock; are there any other symptoms, or just the audio and visual hallucinations?”   
“Just the hallucinations,” Sherlock confirmed.  
“We are going to the hospital and getting you an evaluation. I don’t want to argue Sherlock because it is important that you seek medical advice and have some tests.”  
“Fine.” Sherlock’s eyes were wide. John remembered the Baskerville case; Sherlock was convinced he couldn’t trust his senses then and it obviously freaked him out a bit.  
“Shall I call Mycroft?” John asked. Sherlock only nodded. There was no point staying there waiting if Sherlock’s brother could speed up the process (even if it wasn’t strictly moral). “Ok, I’ll do it after we get a taxi…”  
…  
The taxi ride was silent. Sherlock was devoted to trying to remain calm. John didn’t want to push him into talking if Sherlock was feeling uneasy.  
They soon reached the hospital, thanks to the surprisingly efficient cabbie. Sherlock and John strolled through the doors; the only reason they hadn’t gone quicker was the fact that Sherlock was hesitant and John was more focused on getting him through the doors rather than the speed at which they did so.  
The receptionist had a dead-eyed, intimidating stare which seemed to agitate Sherlock slightly. “Sherlock Holmes – he’s having both audio and visual hallucinations.” John stated.  
“Ah, Mr Holmes. As soon as the doctor is free he’ll send you through,” she directed the question at Sherlock who did not answer. “Ok, have a seat…”  
John guided Sherlock to a vacant chair, but noticed that Sherlock’s line of vision was fixed on a door and his eyes were open slightly wider than usual. “You ok?” he asked.  
“I know it’s just in my head… It has to be… But it looks so real…!” Sherlock’s voice trailed off.  
“What are you seeing?” John asked.  
“You, in surgical scrubs…”  
“Well that doesn’t sound too bad,” John smiled.  
“… Covered in, I would estimate to be, eight pints of blood…” Sherlock continued.  
“Ok, that’s not so great…” John admitted.  
“You’re looking like a bit of a psychopath…” Sherlock commented.  
“I hope you mean your hallucination of me,” John smirked, trying to add humour to their situation.  
“Of course I do…” Sherlock could not take his eyes off the sinister John that stood drenched in blood, cackling insanely. He couldn’t imagine John acting or looking like that… Well, he must be able if his subconscious fabricated it.  
About ten minutes of hearing blood-covered-John cackling was too much. Sherlock instinctively covered his ears – not that it would do any good as the cackling was inside his head. “Are you sure you’re ok?” John asked innocently.  
“It’s just in my head, it’s just in my head, it’s just in my head…” Sherlock kept repeating. The whole waiting room consisted of people staring at Sherlock or trying to avoid staring at him.  
“Sherlock Holmes!” the doctor called.  
“Thank God for that…” John muttered.  
He guided Sherlock into the room and shut the door behind them. Sherlock sat down, rapping his arms around himself.  
“So, I understand you’re hallucinating Mr Holmes…” Sherlock nodded. “Have you suffered any trauma recently?”  
“Lots.” Was the answer Sherlock provided. John was shock; not once had he thought of what Sherlock might have gone through during his time away.  
“Any to the head?”   
“Nothing major,” Sherlock’s eyes started to dart around the room.  
“What’s wrong Sherlock?” John asked.  
“Watching. Always Watching. Can’t do anything, he’ll see…” Sherlock mumbled.  
“Who’ll see?” the doctor asked.  
“Big brother! Can’t let him know!”  
The doctor looked surprised. “Sherlock… This is important,” John began, “do you mean Mycroft? Are you with us?”  
“The government. British government.”  
“Are you with us Sherlock?”  
“There always watching. I hate being watched!”  
“Paranoia,” the doctor noted, “most definitely a psych. case.”  
“A psychiatric case?!” John couldn’t believe his ears, even if it was obvious. Sherlock had been called insane; but John never thought that it would ever be true.  
“Yes, Dr Watson. I’ll get someone to take him to the psychiatric ward now, and he’ll have an evaluation in the morning…”  
“John, you take me. You aren’t scary; you don’t work for them. You’ll keep me safe! Not drugged; never drugged!” Sherlock seemed to start calming down in John’s presence.   
“Someone will have to take you, Sherlock. I don’t know the way.”  
“I could show you quickly…” the doctor offered, “We won’t have to call someone then.”  
“If you don’t mind. Sherlock, that ok?”  
“If you stay with me. I don’t trust him.” Sherlock began to pout.  
“Don’t worry, Sherlock. I’m not going anywhere.”  
“Follow me.” The doctor ordered.  
The two obeyed and swiftly came to the psychiatric ward. It was plain and beige; not interesting at all.   
“You ok, Sherlock?” John asked.  
“Yes John, I’m fine!” Sherlock insisted.   
“Oh good, you’re back with us,” John sighed, relieved.  
“What is the matter John?”   
“You had a paranoid episode…” John informed, “Which means that your problem is psychiatric.”  
“Oh, great! Please tell me I didn’t say anything extremely embarrassing…”  
“You ranted about big brother watching you and that you didn’t trust the hospital staff; but that’s pretty ordinary for paranoia.”  
“Brilliant…” Sherlock muttered.  
The room was clinical and boring. Beige was and a white tiled floor. Nothing of interest. “Just get some rest,” John advised, “you have to have an evaluation tomorrow…”  
“So they can diagnose me…” Sherlock added.  
“Yes. And I need you to behave. Don’t joke around and don’t pretend to be a psychopath or anything like that. Just be polite and answer the questions truthfully.”  
“John, I’m insane, not an idiot.” Sherlock sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Diagnosis

John had fallen asleep on the bedside chair, somehow. It must have been sometime after Sherlock fell asleep, but that was all he knew. The morning light flooded through the windows, illuminating the floor tiles.  
“Finally awake,” Sherlock smiled.  
“Sherlock…” John tried to straighten but found his shoulder stiff and painful. “Good morning.”  
“Psych evaluation for me today. It feels a bit like taking an exam…” Sherlock smiled weakly.  
“It kind of is. If it’s nothing too serious, you should just be given anti-psychotics and sent home. You could still do your work and have a relatively normal life…”  
“Normal’s boring…”  
“I mean normal for you. But I would need you to tell me if you are having an episode…”  
“Fine, I guess.” Sherlock shrugged.  
A young woman, in her early twenties, walked into the room. She was on the tall side of average with long brunette hair and hazel eyes. A dog owner, in a serious relationship with a serial adulterer and had spent last night stalking him as she had begun to catch on to his one night stands; or so Sherlock noted.  
“Sherlock; I’m Emily, I’ll be performing your psychiatric evaluation. Just relax and answer the questions as calmly as you can.” She smiled.  
“Right, I’ll give you some privacy Sherlock. I’ll be in the Canteen if you need me.” John left the room. He was going to come back once the evaluation was over – he respected Sherlock’s privacy while he answered Emily’s questions.  
…  
The coffee in the canteen was gritty and bitter. The toast also left a lot to be desired. John was determined to wait there for an hour; until the evaluation was over.  
…  
Sherlock lay on the bed when John re-entered the room. Emily was gone and he looked some-what at peace. “Long time?” John asked.  
“Felt like eons. So boring and dull. Emily tried not to be patronising, but those sorts of questions are patronising. She apologised for that.” John gave Sherlock a look of disappointment, “I didn’t point it out to her! I resisted saying how boring it was; she just knew that they were patronising.” Sherlock defended, “It turns out she’s a fan of mine. She asked if I had any deductions about her; I said that she owned a dog, was an amateur horse rider, enjoyed singing in the Karaoke club in Frith Street, and wanted to pursue acting as a side-line. She said that she knew I was holding something back; she convinced me to just say it and politeness could just ‘go hang’, as she said. I told her that I deduced the serious relationship with a serial adulterer and that she had spent last night stalking him as she had begun to catch on to his one night stands. She laughed.”  
“Seems two people didn’t reply with ‘piss off’ then…” John smugly smiled  
…  
A few hours later, Emily came back into the room. “Hello, Mr Holmes.” She greeted, attempting to be professional.   
“Hello Emily, I’m guessing you have my results.”   
“Yes… Um…” Emily looked over at John.  
“John Watson.” John supplied the answer to her unspoken question.  
“Sherlock, do you want John here with you?”  
“Yes, that is fine,” Sherlock replied.  
“Right, results. I’m afraid, Sherlock, that you have late-onset Schizophrenia triggered by a traumatic event. The beating you’ve taken over the last few years coupled by John’s rejection when you first came back triggered the condition. I have some literature if you want to read up on it. You’re condition can be managed with anti-psychotics and it’s good to have a routine. Work is beneficial; but don’t get too obsessed by it, keep it healthy.”  
“Ok… Schizophrenia… Sally is going to love this…” Sherlock frowned.  
“She doesn’t have to know, Sherlock. Don’t worry.” John comforted.  
“So… About that literature?”  
“Yes.”   
Emily left to get the leaflets and such, leaving Sherlock and John alone. “Schizophrenia…” John sighed.  
“Yes… Not great, but not terrible either. Like Emily said; medication, routine and work will help.”  
“That’s… good.” John attempted to smile, not very successfully, though.  
“It actually is. It seems real, the hallucinations, but some can be recognised as hallucinations quite easily, like me seeing you dripping with blood in the waiting room; you were sitting next to me so it obviously wasn’t real.”  
“You know this means I’m going to make you take care of yourself. Three meals a day and eight hours sleep at night; at least when you aren’t on a case. We’ll work up from there.”  
“I guess that’s reasonable…” Sherlock shrugged.  
“You’re going to have to stay a few days in hospital, though; to check the meds are working.”  
“If I must.”


	5. The freak's back on drugs?

Baker Street had been sorely missed by both men. Sherlock thought about the changes to his life he had to make. John agreed to move back in; which was a good result. Sherlock needed John now more than ever.  
It was a week before John allowed Sherlock to check in with Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Sherlock needed a case before he began shooting the wall again.  
Sherlock’s eyes bulged and began to dart around the corridors of Scotland Yard. “Sherlock, are you about to have an episode?” John asked in a whisper. Sherlock nodded in reply. “There’s a restroom; go and take your meds… I’ll hang around by here.”   
Sherlock leapt through the door, not wanting to waste any time. John just stared out of a nearby window.  
The restroom was dank, but not unclean. Sherlock retrieved the pill bottle from his pockets. He was on Chlorpromazine; which was the antipsychotic he responded best to. He shook the bottle, allowing the appropriate dose of the small red pills to fall into his palm.  
Anderson opened the restroom door. He froze when he saw Sherlock knocking back some pills. Sherlock hadn’t notice him so he quickly slipped out of the room. He knew Sherlock was back on drugs. “That must be why he’s taken leave for a week! He must have been getting high all that time!” Anderson thought. He had to find Sally.  
…  
Sally was at her desk, filling out paperwork like the good employee she was when Anderson came up to her. “Hey, Philip. Can’t come over tonight, sorry; lots of work to do…” She began.  
“You’ll never guess what I just saw…” Anderson smiled an evil smile.  
“Must be interesting to get you to look like that…” Sally smirked.  
“I just saw the psychopath…” Anderson smirked, “Taking pills in the restroom.”  
“The freak’s back on drugs?” Sally tried to suppress a smug grin, to no avail.  
“That’s what it looks like. We should tell Lestrade…”  
“Or… We could name and shame him in front of everyone!”   
“Explain…”  
“This is what we’re going to do –”  
“Anderson! Donovan! Crime scene! Now!” Called Lestrade.  
“Right away, sir!” Sally answered, “We’ll discuss this at the scene…”  
…  
“How’d it go?” John asked as Sherlock emerged from Lestrade’s office.  
“Great! Triple homicide! Lestrade’s just got the call and thought I may as well go with him straight away as it is very interesting!” Sherlock beamed.  
“You doing ok after earlier?” John’s brow furrowed.   
“Yeah, fine.” Sherlock quickly dismissed.  
“Audio or visual hallucination?”   
“Audio.”  
“Which was…?”  
“Nothing much.”  
“Just tell me, Sherlock. You said you’d tell me about your episodes…”  
“It was just Sargent Donovan saying I’m a freak and a psychopath and to just go die.”  
“Oh, Sherlock…” John sighed with a sympathetic smile.  
“John, my terms were that I’d tell you if you didn’t apply sentiment. I heard it, it freaked me out at the time, but it wasn’t real.”  
“Fine. So, about this murder; what makes it so interesting?”  
“All three victims were drowned in liquid nitrogen.” Sherlock smiled more than a little wider than he should have.  
“Yikes! Not a way I’d like to go…” John shrugged.  
“Oh well, at least it’s interesting and will prevent me from shooting the wall…”  
“A little respect Sherlock…” John frowned. Sherlock only shrugged.


	6. I'm on Chlorpromazine!

The crime scene was just as Lestrade described – a high-end research facility with a large vat of liquid nitrogen in the corner of the room. The bodies were on the floor waiting to be examined.  
Anderson walked over to one of the female corpses and knelt when he heard a loud voice, “Anderson! Don’t touch them!” It was John.  
“Why shouldn’t I? I am the forensic tech on this case! Just because Sherlock doesn’t get on with –”  
“For God’s sake Anderson! Put your petty feud with Sherlock aside! I just saved your fingertips! You touch that body and your fingertips will fuse to it! It’s too cold to touch!” John was looking at Anderson like he was an idiot, which he was.  
“It’s like licking frozen metal and your tongue sticking to it…” Sherlock suppressed a grin, “I’m sure you know what that’s like…”  
“I’m not as much of an idiot as you make me out to be, Sherlock!” Anderson scolded.  
“Then how come you have a scar on your tongue consistent with that sort of injury?” Sherlock smirked.  
Anderson covered his mouth with his hand, turning a bright shade of crimson as he did so. John couldn’t help but snicker. The image of Anderson stuck to some frozen metal pole or something by his tongue was priceless. He decided to go and talk outside with Lestrade while Anderson and Sherlock acted like children; that put him out of the firing line.  
“I was five!!!” Anderson defended.  
“More like ten…” Sherlock contradicted.  
“Shut up, freak!” Sally interjected, “at least he’s not on drugs!”  
“What?” Sherlock asked, confused. What the hell were they talking about? He’d been clean for years.  
“Anderson saw you, freak! You’ll have to answer to Lestrade!” Sally leered.  
“I’m clean! Yes, I made poor life choices; but can we just move on after the three year mark?! I have no desire to turn back to such… recreational activities…”  
“I saw you popping pills, Holmes!” Anderson defended.  
“There is a crime scene here! That is more important than what you think you saw me doing!”  
“You aren’t denying it!” Sally pushed.  
“Yes, I am denying that I was taking illegal drugs!”  
“Legal drugs! There are other ways to get high that are legal! Go on freak, what are you on?!” Anderson questioned.  
“I’m not high!” Sherlock shouted. John, disturbed by the commotion coming from the room, decided to check on Sherlock.  
“Yeah, what are you on, freak?!” Sally interrogated.   
“We know you took something!” Anderson added.  
“Nothing!” Sherlock lied, he’d been trying to avoid that.   
“Liar!” Anderson contradicted.  
“Liar! Lair! Liar!” Sally chanted, Anderson began to join in.  
Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Too much!  
“I’m on Chlorpromazine!!!” Sherlock finally screamed. He focused on something behind Sally and Anderson. Oh no.   
John opened the door to the crime scene. “Sherlock? Are you alright?”  
“What? What the hell, freak?!” Sally growled.   
“It’s… It’s an antipsychotic used to treat my late-onset schizophrenia!”  
“Oh God!” John exclaimed. Sherlock was agitated; eyes wider than usual and he began to whip his head around, scanning the room.  
“You really think we’re gonna believe that!” Anderson spat.  
“Sherlock?” John ran to his friend’s side, “Are you having an episode?” Sherlock nodded fiercely.   
“Oh God, he’s got you on in this too?” Sally sighed.  
“This is not some cover up or a practical joke! Sherlock was diagnosed a week ago; that’s why he took time off!” John had had enough of Anderson and Donovan’s crap.  
“Scared…” Sherlock muttered, seeming almost paralysed by fear, “too real…”  
“But you know it isn’t real Sherlock. Try and calm down, it might help. It’s too late for more meds; you have to just ride it out.” John tried to comfort.  
Sherlock started to franticly brush off his arms, legs and torso. “Help me!” he yelped.  
“What’s happening, Sherlock? What’s going on?”  
“Insects! Crawling over me, biting. It hurts! I can feel them! Get them off!” Sherlock was very distressed.  
“They aren’t real Sherlock. It’s just in your head…”  
Sherlock dropped to the floor. He pointed at Anderson and Donovan. “They did it! They released them on me! They want to kill me! Police! Police! Murder!”  
“Sherlock it’s ok; no one’s trying to kill you…” John tried to remain calm.  
“John. It’s you! Don’t let them get me!” Sherlock pleaded.  
“Don’t worry, Sherlock. You’re safe.”   
“Maybe he isn’t pretending, after all…” Anderson admitted.  
“What made you guess?!” John asked sarcastically.  
“They’re monsters John! Run! Green fur and red eyes! Scales and fangs! Run! It’s too late for me!”  
“It’s just in your head Sherlock. They’re just Donovan and Anderson…”  
The hallucinations seemed to melt behind Sherlock’s eyes. “Oh God… I just had an episode in front of the entire MIT, didn’t I?” John nodded. “I’m getting out of here!” Sherlock got up and sprinted to the exit.  
“Sherlock…” John promptly chased after Sherlock. All Anderson and Donovan could do was stare on, mouths agape, like the goldfish they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Couldn't resist the image on Anderson stuck to a metal pole by his tongue! The opportunity was just *there*! Don't judge me! :)


	7. Well, on some level, we are monsters...

“For the love of God!” Sherlock roared as the 221b’s door burst open. He stormed into the room muttering curses.  
“Sherlock, calm down…” John attempted to soothe, following closely behind him.  
“I just had an episode!”  
“Yes.”  
“In front of everyone! Including Anderson and Donovan!”  
“I know, Sherlock. But it’s going to be –”  
“It’s going to be what, John?! Embarrassing? Humiliating? I agree!”  
“I know that you’re embarrassed, but it was out of your control…”  
“Betrayed by my brain of all things! The one friend I had growing up!”  
“People will understand. You didn’t choose to have an episode…”  
“Can I remind you that it is Anderson and Donovan I’m anxious about! They’re going to tear me to pieces! I could quit… but I need the work! And… And…”  
“Sherlock, you’ll make yourself ill if you carry on.”  
“It’s Anderson and –”  
Sherlock was interrupted by a knock on the open door. It was Anderson.  
“Mrs Hudson let me in…” he muttered.  
“God, it’s like Beetlejuice! You said his name one too many times!” John joked, scowling at Anderson.  
“Must have deleted that… film?” Sherlock muttered.  
“I just came by to say –”  
“There’s not much you can say, Anderson! You interrogated and ridiculed me because of a misunderstanding brought about by my past, which resulted in me having a schizophrenic episode; which was terrifying at the least. It feels real, you know. The hallucinations. I thought that insects really were crawling over me, biting me. And I actually thought you and Donovan were monsters…” Sherlock chuckled emptily.  
“Well, on some level, we are monsters… I’m sorry Sherlock. I should have followed protocol and told Lestrade. I’m guessing he knows…” Anderson trailed off.  
“It would be irresponsible if he didn’t know. He said I could come to the crime scenes, only if I wouldn’t make a scene. I guess this incident means I’m fired…” Sherlock sighed.  
“No, it doesn’t,” Anderson corrected, “for one, that’s discrimination against the mentally ill…”  
“Please don’t call me that, however true it might be; I’m not a fan of the phrasing…” Sherlock shrugged.  
“Sure,” Anderson continued, “secondly, I told Lestrade that it was mine and Sally’s fault. He said that we won’t be on cases for a while and put us on desk duty…” Sherlock and John were both surprised at Anderson’s display of actual decency. “I still felt bad, so I came to apologise. I’ve done that, so I’ll just go…”  
“I accept your apology, Anderson,” Sherlock responded. It surprised even himself, “Your suspicions were understandable, no one sees an ex-drug-addict taking pills and immediately thinks mental illness… You should have followed the correct procedure by telling Lestrade rather than listening to Donovan, though. Speaking of Donovan, where is she? I entertained the thought that she might be with you…”  
“Well, she is a bitch. She insisted that she did nothing wrong and that you ‘deserved it’,” Anderson sighed.  
“That’s alright; she’s absolutely idiotic and infuriating. I’d like to think you show some promise. You just need to stop talking and think.” Sherlock shrugged.  
“Thanks… I think,” Anderson smiled a half smile while John was shocked into silence. He’d never seen Sherlock and Anderson get along before. “I better go. Don’t think I’m treating you any different at crime scenes, Sherlock. I’ve come to enjoy our little sparring sessions.”  
“I wouldn’t expect anything else.”  
“Just don’t say anything about the… cold metal incident again. I’m still embarrassed by that…”  
“We’ll see…”  
“Goodbye, Holmes.” And with that, Anderson left. John was still speechless.  
“Anderson and I can get along if we wish. Sargent Donovan is the real reason that Anderson makes these… less favourable gestures. We enjoy the sparring between us, really.”  
John was still silent.  
“Tea?” Sherlock offered. John only nodded.   
Things were a way away from normality, it would probably be a while before there was even a slight sense of normality. But Sherlock would get used to the hallucinations, the medication and perhaps even agree to therapy; John would get over the shock of Sherlock and Anderson being civil to each other and Sherlock offering to make tea… though it may take a while.

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's copying the amazing work of the brilliant writers on this show so far, but it is needed. I sincerely apologise.  
> Please leave review, I do enjoy hearing what people think.


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